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If he could, Johnny Franco would wake up late every day. Not “sleep in,” mind you. Portland’s singular “Professional Entertainer” (his chosen self-descriptor) loves the rush, the urgency—the maximum clarity—of running late.
“There’s no time for bullshit. There’s no time for being in your head and thinking,” the dapper Brazilian says. “I like to throw myself into a situation where I have to figure out a way. I think it brings out the best in me. I try to feel that way all the time.”
Since moving to Portland in 2018 with his American wife, Franco, 32, has busked on countless street corners; delivered hundreds of songs on behalf of his growing nonprofit, Curbside Serenade; and organized an unrelenting program of concerts, open mics and variety shows around the metro area and beyond. In 2025 he played 374 shows, and he’s kept roughly the same pace this year.
Last week we tagged along with Franco on errand stops near Laurelhurst Park—perhaps your best bet to spot him in the wild (though he hangs his hat in Montavilla). It’s here he hosts a popular weekly summer concert series, and a weekly open mic at Laurelthirst Public House nearby. Vibe-wise, the park shows—interactive and spontaneous DIY extravaganzas staged by the charismatic Franco, his brother, Dom, and a wild band of talented volunteers—are tough to beat in all the city.
As WW learned, lots of work goes into flying by the seat of your pants.
1. Wine’d Up
Franco starts his day with a trip to Portland Wine Merchants (1430 SE 35th Ave., 504-234-4399, portlandwinemerchants.com) for a bottle of something new—maybe a white to enjoy with a nice piece of fish. When he’s not running late, Franco likes a glass of wine in the morning. Weekend mornings are some of the only times he can reliably spend with his wife, Elizabeth, who works long hours as an apprentice steamfitter. A daytime buzz is one of life’s great joys that’s often overlooked in the States, Franco says. “It’s delicious.” But this is a Monday. The wine shop, it turns out, is closed.
2. Fruitless
Franco is often in a state of needing cucumbers, and that’s the case today, so we hit the Hawthorne Fred Meyer (3805 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 503-872-3300, fredmeyer.com). They’re to make cucumber-infused vodka, a fixture of his live show. During his song titled, naturally enough, “Cucumber Vodka” (and inspired by an acid trip), the stuff is poured into expectant mouths in the crowd. Franco grabs six cukes and a Pedialyte. As we leave the parking lot, he stops short, grabs $5, and walks it to a busking accordionist on the sidewalk.
“What comes your way goes your way,” he says, returning to his van.
3. Branch out
A full schedule plus talent like Franco’s equals plenty of cash on hand. We head to Columbia Bank (3557 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 503-219-6150, columbiabank.com) so he can deposit his tip money.
“We’re taking ones and pennies. Five, ten, twenties and your cigarettes toooooo,” he intones on the chorus of “Ones and Pennies,” a signature song of sorts with a charming music video shot around Portland. Turns out it’s all true.
The teller notes the difference between the name on one of his accounts, “Johnny,” and the name on Franco’s ID.
Born João Vitor Gariani Franco in São Paulo, the son of singer and comedian Moacyr Franco, one of Brazil’s biggest stars of the 1960s, the younger Franco acted on TV as a child, and his previous band, the Moondogs, appeared on the live televised singing competition SuperStar.
But he’d prefer to not discuss his upbringing. He says it’s not interesting. Maybe he’s right.
4. Tea’d up
Next up we stop by the home of Domenico Franco, aka Johnny’s Real Brother Dom, a block north of the bank.
We sip Chinese tea in Dom’s kitchen as soccer plays on the radio. The brothers, fierce Palmeiras supporters, at times slip into their native Portuguese. They share a subtle likeness, yes, but they harmonize like only real brothers can.
Their stage personae are exaggerated versions of the real ones. Where “Johnny” (the chracter) is fast-talking, intense and quick-tempered, “Dom” (the character) is quiet, good-hearted and smiley if a little slow. Johnny leads the show; Dom, a stellar guitarist and pianist, is the backbone of the sound.
And while Johnny runs around town, it’s Dom who prepares the vodka and the meatballs (for the song “One Meat Ball” and other Franco show staples). As much as they love the urgency of running late, the brothers put plenty of thought and sweat into each show—and they rarely keep people waiting.
“We have the fastest sound check west of the Mississippi,” says Dom, who’s eight years younger than his brother. “Two minutes, max. Sound guys love us.”
Cucumbers delivered, we head back to Hawthorne.
5. Post up
At the PostalAnnex on Hawthorne (3439 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 971-279-5151, postalannex.com), Johnny mails a mix CD with hand-drawn artwork to a fan in Sandy, Utah. While his old-school aesthetic might scream “vinyl,” Johnny Franco’s a decided devotee of the compact disc, a format he uses to sell much of his music.
“They want something, right?” he says.
A lot of people who buy Franco’s music don’t own CD players. So he repairs and sells those, too, often sourced from Goodwill. It’s not a business model practiced by many working musicians.
“The thing is, I’m trying to survive. I don’t make any money on my recordings. I’m sure there’s a way to do it. I just don’t know how.”
6. Tillie meet again
Our original mission—a trek across Laurelhurst—having long since unraveled, we get Dom and head to Aunt Tillie’s Deli & Pub (2000 NE 42nd Ave., 503-281-1834, aunttilliesdeli.org) in Hollywood’s Antique Alley.
Over a Tillie’s Tickler (Dom) and a tuna sandwich (Johnny), the Francos discuss what Portland has meant to them. It wasn’t their first choice. New York and L.A. were too expensive. Same with Seattle. Everywhere else: “Too Republican.” But this city welcomed the brothers with enthusiasm.
“I like to find belonging and give belonging to people,” Franco says.
Nowadays in Portland, Franco gets recognized everywhere. But that’s to be expected, he says. Given his distinct look and all the shows he’s played, it’d be weird if he didn’t get recognized, right?
As we leave, Franco strikes up a conversation with a deli employee. He praises the food and introduces Dom. “I’m an entertainer,” he tells her. “If you guys do any events, you should check us out.”
On cue, a customer walks by and tells the woman, “I know this guy! He’s really funny. He’s great.”
GO: Johnny Franco and His Real Brother Dom in the Do-Everything Show (“entertainment including but not limited to songs”) at Alberta Rose Theatre, 3000 NE Alberta St., 503-719-6055, albertarosetheatre.com. 8 pm Saturday, June 13. $19.75. Minors OK with parent/guardian.
